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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818560">frog</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecleretical/pseuds/hecleretical'>hecleretical</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pyre (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BOY HOWDY I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FIC FOR A YEAR, M/M, actually ive been thinking about this fic for almost TWO years, gol is gay, knight/liege dynamic, like seriously putting the g in lgbt, pre-canon even by pre-canon standards, so you're legally required to read it, someday. someday they'll kiss, unrequited mutual pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:06:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecleretical/pseuds/hecleretical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"O webbéd foot," his liege began, in the voice he used to declaim, "that paddleth the limpid shallows-- O gibbous throat, who singeth evening prayers-- O tiny soul, which crieth out for infinite sorrow, of lonely deeps and-- and--" He trailed off, overcome. Gol was unsurprised to see actual tears on his cheeks. "He's so little."</p>
<p>gol golathanian needs to go find his liege. again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gol Golathanian/Soliam Murr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>frog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gol Golathanian, contrary to popular belief, was not a patient soul. Tenacious, certainly, practically a wolfhound of a man; decorous, even, and composed in a long-suffering sort of way. But he had absolutely no tolerance for bullshit, and his patience he extended to only one man-- and these foppish courtiers were certainly not him.</p>
<p>"You lost him," he snapped. The foppish courtiers cringed.</p>
<p>"We--"</p>
<p>"You <em>lost</em> the <em>Emperor of Sahr</em>."</p>
<p>"Sir--"</p>
<p>He had not even attended the stupid party, he thought bitterly; he was up so late working, because of everyone in this damn palace he at least understood the basic necessity of keeping, you know, the Empire running. And yet for some reason not only could they not keep an eye fixed on *the actual Emperor* for a few short hours, but Gol had to be the one they went to when they lost him. Every time.</p>
<p>"You had better have a very good reason for the Rope-Caller when he wakes up in the morning as to why exactly you let our Liege wander off to drown in an ornamental fishpond." The face of the one doing the talking blanched and they tried to sputter something out. "No, I'm not telling him, you are. Who was even supposed to--" He caught himself before he said 'babysit'. "To attend him this time?"</p>
<p>"The Minister of the Imperial Bedchamber, but he said--"</p>
<p>"That it was your turn," butted in the other one, who was looking particularly put out.</p>
<p>"The Minister of the Imperial Bedchamber," Gol spat, "<em>Doesn't have a REAL job.</em>"</p>
<p>He realized only at the winces of not only the useless courtiers, but also of the servants in the room, that he had, uncharacteristically, raised his voice. Well, he thought-- half-ashamed of himself for the breach of composure, half-furious-- they should know better, stars all damn them.</p>
<p>"With all due respect, Master-General, Sir," one of the pages said, "you are the only one who can....well, handle him. When he's in one of his moods."</p>
<p>Gol gave her a sharp look. "Have more care with how you speak of our liege." An exasperated sigh. "But I suppose you're right. Go to the Emperor's chambers and see if anyone has seen him there. The rest of you, organize a search and go across the palace gardens thoroughly. You two--"</p>
<p>Gol Golathanian's withering glances could make the most hardened legionaries cower. These two looked like they were about to faint. He sighed. "Just get out of my sight."</p>
<p>He stood from his desk and swept out of his office without another glance at the idiots. To go get a fucking drink, he thought for a second, and then-- suddenly overcome with a sick feeling-- he found himself taking two sharp turns and opening a door out to the gardens.</p>
<p>They were very large. That was about all Gol could say of them. Not that he disliked them-- they were pretty enough, in a way, if significantly too trimmed. But they were very large, and when the entirety of them had been taken up in the latest revelry, it made a very large area to search.</p>
<p>Think, he told himself. Where does the Emperor like best?</p>
<p>His feet took him past drunken revelers and banquet tables, long reflecting pools covered with floating lanterns, gardens of pale flowers from the Southern Bogs that only bloomed under waning moonlight; a miniature forest grove, transplanted dirt and all from the Westerly Woods. The shouting and laughter faded behind him as he found himself in an almost forgotten corner of the palace grounds. Whether it was instinct or something more that led him there, he later couldn't say.</p>
<p>A secret garden, high marble walls overcome with climbing white roses, their leaves dark green against the pale stone. Inside, past a greened copper door, was a pond; surrounded by willows trailing their leaves into the water, surface covered with open water lilies. The sound of birds and frogs hit his ears. Gol was a soldier, not a poet, but he found himself standing for a moment, taking it in.</p>
<p>And there, in front of the marble fountain in its center, was a pale figure with dark hair, moonlight gleaming on the golden embroidery of his clothing. The Emperor Soliam Murr.</p>
<p>"My liege?" Gol's voice was unnaturally loud in his ears. The Emperor seemed not to hear.</p>
<p>Gol drew closer, reluctant. His liege was hunched over, seemingly examining something in his hands. He was missing a shoe, Gol noticed abruptly. And he was dangling both of his feet in the water-- including the one that still had a shoe.</p>
<p>He did not look up as a shadow fell across the surface in front of him. Gol knelt beside him on the stone lip of the pond. "My liege--"</p>
<p>Startled, the Emperor lost his balance and pitched forward. It took an instant to throw an arm out and grab him before he fell into the pond. Gol felt his life pass before his eyes in that instant. Cursing himself for a fool, he pulled his liege back from the edge and steadied him. (To steady him, certainly; that was why his hands lingered on his shoulders.)</p>
<p>Soliam Murr blinked up at him, owl-eyed. "My Master-General," he said.</p>
<p>Gol's stomach sank. He was very, very drunk. Dangerously so, drunk and probably something else-- eyes blown, hair a wreck; his pulse, as Gol checked his wrist, was barely there, and his breathing was ragged and shallow. What did they let him do, he thought. And there was no swallowing the anger at that.</p>
<p>But his liege needed him to be gentle now, not furious. "We've been looking for you, my liege," he said, as quietly and evenly as he could manage. "Are you--"</p>
<p>The Emperor cut him off. "I have something for you," he said-- trying very clearly not to slur his words, the way he always did when he was drunk. A crooked childish grin touched his face. "Hold out your hands."</p>
<p>Gol obeyed the command without thinking.</p>
<p>Into them was pressed-- something small. Damp. Squirming? A very small frog, now held in his grasp-- the Emperor's hands, he realized, still cupped around his own, lingering. They were soft. Clean, delicate hands; totally untouched by any kind of work. Nothing like his own.</p>
<p>"O webbéd foot," his liege began, in the voice he used to declaim, "that paddleth the limpid shallows-- O gibbous throat, who singeth evening prayers-- O tiny soul, which crieth out for infinite sorrow, of lonely deeps and-- and--" He trailed off, overcome. Gol was unsurprised to see actual tears on his cheeks. "He's so little."</p>
<p>"You've cut your hands," Gol said. It was true; there were dark bloody scrapes at his knuckles. "How did you do that?"<br/>
He blinked. "I don't know." The Emperor frowned, looked about to cry in earnest now. "I--"</p>
<p>"Never mind, my liege. I'll see that they're bandaged myself, yes?" A tearful nod. "The whole palace has been looking for you. We should go now, and let the frog back into the pond."</p>
<p>The Emperor looked at him in distress. "But I love him."</p>
<p>"You can find him again tomorrow, my liege."</p>
<p>"Will you remind me?"</p>
<p>"I will," said Gol, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort. "Should I let him go now?"</p>
<p>"Let me do it." The Emperor's hands were still, still cupped around his own; with some reluctance he passed the frog back and pulled away. His liege held the little creature up to his face and sniffled. "Fare well, little prince of frogs. Please remember the treaty I proposed to your peoples' diplomats."</p>
<p>He was certainly far too drunk.</p>
<p>The frog slipped back into the pond with a ripple, and Emperor Murr threw his arms around Gol's neck with a wretched sob. Gol froze. </p>
<p>It was not the first time the Emperor had cried into his shoulder, but somehow it never got <em>easier</em>-- that paralyzing need to comfort and fear of overstepping his place. His face rested right in the crook of Gol's neck, and he had never been good with crying people in the first place, even when they weren't-- He put a hand between his liege's shoulders in an awkward pat, and somehow that made him pull himself closer, practically in his lap now, so that Gol could not help but flinch and pull his hand away. They sat like that-- Emperor Murr crying, Gol wishing desperately to embrace him but absolutely terrified of doing so-- for a long, awkward minute.</p>
<p>Finally, finally, he put his arms around him-- so tentatively-- and was rewarded with a hiccuping sob and a pull yet closer. They sat like that for another even longer minute.</p>
<p>You've got it so bad, Gol thought, for the uncountableth time.</p>
<p>At last his liege pulled away and he flinched again, terrified he'd somehow overstepped-- but it was only to rub his tear-stained face, like a small child, and then to lean his head back against Gol's shoulder.</p>
<p>"I want to go to bed," he said, very small.</p>
<p>"We can go back to the palace now, my liege."</p>
<p>A hiccup. "I don't think my legs work." And then, looking at him hopefully-- "You'll have to carry me?"</p>
<p>You do it once and they'll never let you forget it. Gol sighed. "If you-- as you wish, my liege."</p>
<p>It was not easy carrying a grown man, especially one three inches taller than you, even if he was willowy-thin. For a brief moment the disloyal part of his brain considered slinging the Emperor over his shoulders and carrying him that way-- but no, he thought, shoving that firmly down; the lord and master of Sahr had to have some basic dignity.</p>
<p>If the lord and master of Sahr wanted to have dignity he should not get drunk stick his feet in a fishpond and cry, suggested the disloyal part of his brain. Shut up I'm not listening, Gol replied.</p>
<p>Instead he gathered him carefully against his chest and lifted him in his arms. (Like a pair of newlyweds, a thought he <em>also</em> viciously repressed.) His liege giggled. This was not better than crying into his shoulder-- his arms went around Gol's neck to steady himself, his face pressed once again into the crook between his neck and shoulder.</p>
<p>"You're so strong," he said, breathless, and the way his voice lingered on <em>strong</em> made Gol's stomach turn over and his face get hot. He murmured something without hearing himself. Thank you, my liege. Please don't say that again, my liege.</p>
<p>He had mercifully left the door to the garden open, that he didn't have to navigate it without his hands. They began very slowly and carefully to make their way back through the palace grounds. They must have been alone for longer than he'd realized-- the sounds of revelry had died down almost completely; the grounds were now largely deserted. Only the moonlight, now, and his Emperor so quiet and still in his arms, like a child. Breathing still ragged and slow-- he should be talking, now, Gol should have some way to know that he was still there.</p>
<p>What did they let you do to yourself, he almost asked, but at the last moment salvaged it into "The moon is very-- ah. Lovely tonight."</p>
<p>An absolutely stupid thing to say. But the Emperor made a thoughtful noise against his shoulder. "In Piscer," he said. "It's in Piscer. It's waning."</p>
<p>This caught Gol somewhat by surprise. "Is-- does the one have something to do with the other, my liege?"</p>
<p>Hiccup. "The moon is under the same star as the sun when it is new, under the opposite when it-- when it is full-- and when it is waning it moves through the s. Second half." He was trying very hard not to slur or stutter, and it should not have been so endearing. "The sun is under Arcae, so the moon was full in Librect and when it is almost waned to nothing it is in Piscer."</p>
<p>The moon was almost waned to nothing, he realized; now that the last of the reddish color on the horizon had faded it was quite dark and quite cold. His liege shivered in his arms. Almost instinctively, he tightened his grip. So cold-- his hands were always very cold, too, at least when the Emperor had occasion to touch him.</p>
<p>The closest they ever were was like this, in fact-- some drunken night, Gol carrying him to bed. He shoved down a twinge of regret, of longing. "Tell me more about the moon, my liege?"</p>
<p>They made their way back into the palace, Emperor Murr speaking to him of the moon and stars; Gol encouraging him, asking questions to keep him talking. Through warm lacquered corridors towards the heart of the east wing-- aside from a drunken reveler passed out on the floor here and there, there was not a soul to be seen, and there had been no search party he saw as well, Gol thought disapprovingly. Just him, and if the Master-General of Sahr had to go find his lord every time he got drunk what was the whole country coming to?</p>
<p>"So strong," the Emperor murmured again, into his shoulder. He had somehow wormed his way around to have his legs wrapped around Gol's waist, hugging him like a stuffed toy, which also did not make him easy to carry. "My strong Master-General."</p>
<p>They at last reached the threshold of the Imperial chambers. The page was slumped over asleep in the doorway; Gol stepped easily over him. He'd been here many times, of course, but not, he realized, in the Emperor's bedroom itself. Even escorting him back after a revel there had always been someone else awake to take charge of him. It must be later than he'd thought.</p>
<p>Like all rooms in the Imperial quarters, the bedchamber was huge, paneled in dark wood with golden inlay, hung with tapestries of past emperors and Sahrian beasts. The bed itself was a massive thing of dark warm wood and gold and-- were those actual gemstones set into it? And silken sheets, of course. His liege whined as he was set down on the bed. Arms and legs still wrapped so tightly around him, it was almost a struggle to get untangled, and to do so gently.</p>
<p>Poking around in the chest of drawers at the other end of the room revealed clean cloth and a pitcher of cold water. "Put this on your face," he said, handing a dampened cloth to his liege, and with another began to clean the scrapes on his hands.</p>
<p>"Kiss them first?" he asked as Gol began to bandage them. Without thinking, he complied, a soft press of lips to each knuckle before he continued. Later he would wonder at that, at his boldness.</p>
<p>"Do you know what happened to your shoe?" he asked. Its mate was so soaked with water it was difficult to get off, and the stockings as well. He stopped at shoe and stockings and outer mantle; stars above help him, he was <em>not</em> taking off his emperor's tunic or leggings. </p>
<p>There was no response. He seemed almost asleep now. His pulse was steady, Gol noted with relief, and his breathing deeper and more even. Still should have someone sit up with him, make sure he was well.</p>
<p>Carefully he maneuvered his liege into the center of the bed, propped him up on his side with pillows in case he vomited in his sleep. Tucked him in softly, under the blankets and sheets. So beautiful, even now, with his face pale and blotchy from crying and his hair a mess. He truly did look younger than his years (Gol did not look younger when he slept, only tired and sick), and somehow more innocent. As if he might wake up and want to rule Sahr in the morning. As if he slept out of something other than drunkenness, and had cried over-- Gol could not imagine who would dare to make such a person cry. Not the man Soliam Murr appeared when he was asleep. Nobody would have the heart.</p>
<p>Without thinking his hands went to smooth his liege's hair. It's such a shame he wears it like that, he thought; it could be so pretty. Silk-soft under his rough soldier's hands, and shiny and dark in the way every one of those useless courtiers wished their own hair to be.</p>
<p>So beautiful.</p>
<p>And on an impulse he bent down and kissed Soliam's temple, a gentle press of lips.</p>
<p>And it was late, and Gol Golathanian was suddenly tired and ashamed, as if he had just taken something to which he had no right. There was movement in the other room and he didn't even think to start, to wonder if he'd been seen. Why did I do that, he thought.</p>
<p>The page appeared at the doorway, bleary-eyed. In his footsteps was Khaylmer Rope-Caller, who could have almost been called bleary-eyed if it had been possible to catch him in a state of anything but perfect composure.</p>
<p>"Master-General?" Khaylmer said. "Ah, I see you've found him."</p>
<p>"With no thanks to anyone else," Gol said dryly. "See that someone sits up with our liege and makes sure he's breathing. And that you--" not 'tear them a new one', you couldn't say that to Khaylmer-- "that you have a firm talk with several people tomorrow."</p>
<p>A curt nod. Gol turned to go, was stopped by the expectant feeling of eyes staring at the center of his back.</p>
<p>"Golathanian." He turned. Khaylmer gave him a level glance; and, if there was no like in his eyes, there was at least no pity. Maybe even, he thought for a brief moment before rejecting the thought out of hand, respect.</p>
<p>"Sir?"</p>
<p>He shook his head. "Get some sleep, Golathanian, you look worn out." With that Khaylmer turned away, a clear dismissal. Gol leaves.</p>
<p>He doesn't sleep, not quite yet. Doesn't even go home; he'll sleep at his desk tonight, nodding off over requisitions paperwork and correspondence. But for now he finds himself standing outside the Emperor's chambers in a daze, feeling guilty for something he's not sure what, and idly touching the slimy spot on his hand, where he'd held a frog.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the poetry soliam declaims here is courtesy of azurefishnets on ao3/tumblr :&gt; thanks janna!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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